


Something to Remind You

by iansgallaghers



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Detective Mickey and Ian, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iansgallaghers/pseuds/iansgallaghers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich does not play well with others. Everyone in the station new it. Hell, everyone in the world knew it. So why, dear God why, did his captain insist on having some stupidly attractive ginger kid from the Southside be his new partner? Oh right, because they had something in common. What the hell did that even mean, anyways?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time Bomb

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing. This started out as something to a graphic I made because I wanted an excuse to slap Cam's face on a police officer outfit. And then it spiraled out of control. I guess I was doomed from the start, what can I say? These fuckers have ruined my life.
> 
> This is really my first attempt at a chapter fic and really starting to connect with these characters, so I do apologize if they are OOC. Thought that counts, yeah? Mickey and Lip are 29 and Mandy and Ian are 27. I'll figure out the rest of the ages of the characters if I bother to write them tbh. I'm lazy.

_You work your way from the ground up. Consider this a favour, kid. You’ll go far. It's better than getting arrested and throwing your ass in jail._

Taking a drag of his cigarette, the brunette tried to focus on those words. Those were the words that kept him going, even when all he wanted to do was throw his gun and badge against the wall and say fuck it. It was harder as time went on, when he wondered just exactly what the fuck he was doing in a detective’s unit, working for the Chicago Police Department. It going against everything a Milkovich was. His father would surely be rolling over in his grave.

That was assuming he was dead, of course. God, he wished he was.

Mickey took another drag of his cigarette as he looked around. It was the same thing, same scenery, but on a different day. The streets were busy with cars and people trying to get places and littered with trash. The air smelled like gasoline and really, it was one of the worst places to have a precinct, but Mickey guessed it worked.  At least if someone followed him, it looked like he was going into some shitty looking building as opposed to something that screamed “hello yes, I am a police officer!”

Not like anyone would be following him. He was a Milkovich. He was too smart for that.

He flicked the end of his cigarette, letting it fall into the grass before stamping it out with his foot. He knew that he shouldn’t be smoking on break but did he give a fuck? Not in the slightest. He wasn't in a patrol uniform. The only thing to identify him as a detective was the badge hanging around his neck and even then, that was hidden by his coat. Everyone passing by could give him dirty looks about his smokes but as long as they didn't see the badge, they couldn't go running like a dog with their tail between their legs to the higher ups. Besides, he _needed_ the cigarette.  The captain had been giving him a look all day, one that screamed there was going to be a conversation later in the day. It was something that Mickey was not looking forward too.

Why was he in this job again?

He knew the answer to that. It was to get away from the Southside, from the abusive home, from the shitty meals that somehow counted as “food.” It was to get away from his father, to get away from the fact that he might wind up dead, to get away from the horrible memories. That’s why he was here. That’s what he had to keep telling himself, ten years later. Mickey shoved his hands in his pockets as he thought about this, a scowl on his face. He hated thinking about his stupid broken home and he hated thinking about his past. It was over with. It was done.

It was about five minutes of him dwelling in his own misery did he notice that there was something off about his workplace. His co-workers seemed to be amused, his captain was out of his office, and his captain was right by his desk, placing a file on the corner of his desk. He felt his eyes narrow at his boss as he looked at the folder. This was a fucking joke, right? 

“The fuck is this?”

Everyone in the station knew that Mickey did not play well with others. He did not play well with the people he arrested and he did not play well with his co-workers. He was the asshole in the corner who somehow managed to hold a detective title. When it boiled down to it, he did his job and he did it well. It was as a perk of growing up in the Southside, of being “one of those kids” until he was seventeen years old.

“Your new partner.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows as he snatched the folder up off his desk. He worked alone and that was that. He didn’t need a new partner, especially since the last one had run off, claiming that Mickey was “too abusive” and “mean” or whatever the fuck it was. Needless to say, internal affairs had a fucking field day.

“I don’t need a fuckin’ partner.”

“You’re going to do me a favour, Milkovich. You’re going to shut up about your partner and so help me God, you are not going to wind up in front of internal affairs again. I am tired of defending you. Besides, I think this one will be good for you.”

The detective highly doubted that. Instead of reading the file, he flung it over to the side of his desk, not a single care in the world. Mickey already knew what was going to happen; the partner would come in and he’d be running the other way within a week.  He took a seat at his desk and kept on glaring at the file out of the corner of his eye. It was making him so angry.

His captain, on the other hand, was too fucking optimistic about this whole thing.  He had interviewed the younger boy and had been pleased with his work ethic and his desire to be on the force. And yeah, sue him, he was putting him together with Mickey simply because he  _knew_ that the kid would drive Mickey up a wall. It was a good counter balance.

“Lighten up, Detective. He’s from the Southside, too.”

That only caused Mickey to raise his eyebrows even further. He wouldn’t admit to it, but the thought of someone working with him from the Southside was scary and exciting at the same time. The brunette just kept an impassive look on his face as he leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk, and gave his captain the middle finger.

It really was a wonder as to  _why_ anyone allowed him to continue with his job.

* * *

What Mickey didn’t want to admit to was the fact that he was so damn curious about who his new partner was. Two weeks had passed since his captain had dropped the folder on his desk. He still hadn’t looked at it, despite wanting too. There was no way that he was going to let anyone know he had caved. Even if he didn't tell them directly, there was something about their sneaky personalities would just _know_ that he looked. He could not have that. Mickey Milkovich was not weak, dammit.

He was busy writing a report when he heard something drop on the desk next to him. Normally, he would have looked the other way — but it was the desk that had been empty ever since the other partner had pussied out. Slowly, he glanced up, an annoyed look on his face. 

“Jesus, you’re so god damn noisy.”

The first thing Mickey noticed was  _all those god damn freckles_. He was a ginger and there was something about his face that looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Not that he cared too, anyways, because fuck that. He was still in his patrol uniform, which meant that someone clearly had not given him the memo. It was strangely amusing and he tried not to focus on the fact that the uniform did this younger detective good things for his body. 

“Sorry,” the redhead apologized, trying to pick up the mess (the box had fallen over and that was what had caused the noise). After a few seconds, he looked up at his partner, a slight frown on his face. It was hard  _not_ to recognize him, considering how they had grown up in the same damn neighbourhood. You didn't forget someone associated with the Milkovich family. But this couldn't be a bad thing, right? He was a _detective_ , which meant he was already going in a different direction than the rest of his family. This wasn't a joke. This couldn't be a joke. And wow, Ian wanted to kick himself for even thinking that. Clearly there was something right with the world if Mickey Milkovich was a detective for the Chicago PD.

“Ian Gallagher,” he spoke after a few moments, stretching out his hand, to which Mickey ignored. “I’m uh, your new partner.”

_Gallagher._ The name clicked in his mind; it was one of Frank’s kids, however fucking many of them there were. His older brother, Lip, was the same age as Mickey and had written papers for him back in high school. Jesus Christ, it was a small world.

“The fuck are you doing wearing your patrol uniform? Aren’t you a detective now?”

“Uh.”

It was going to be a long day.

 


	2. Salute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is this what it’s always like, then? Just sitting around and hoping we catch the bad guy?”
> 
> “You can’t tell me you did anything different on your patrol because you fuckin’ didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for Shameless tonight? I'm not. Here, have some filler fic to keep you from pulling your hair out and banging your head against the wall in anticipation of the episode. Meanwhile, I will be getting drunk.

Even Gallagher’s appearance was enough to give Mickey a headache. It was like the way he stood on his toes or something equally ridiculous, considering how he didn’t really speak unless he was spoken too. Mickey knew that it really had to do with the fact that he was from the Southside, let alone the same neighbourhood that Mickey was from.  
  
It made his skin crawl. It made him nervous. He hated the idea that he was always been looked at by Gallagher, probably remembering some stupid thing he had done when he was younger in order to survive. Having Ian motherfucking Gallagher as his new partner really screwed up with the whole “it’s in the past, I don’t talk about the past, the past is in the past” theory he had been living for the past twelve years.

“You can’t smoke on duty.”

Those words snapped him out of his thoughts. He glared at the redhead, the cigarette dangling at his lips. He was going to smoke whenever he fucking felt like it.

“Fuck off, Gallagher. They can’t see my badge so I really could care less.” Mickey took a drag of his cigarette, as if he was proving a point, and puffed the smoke into his face. He smirked in response, noticing how his eyes went wide before he took a step back. “Want one?”

“No thanks, I quit.”

“Yeah, how’s that workin’ out for ya?” Mickey had tried to quit smoking on many occasions, mainly after he had been accepted into the police academy. They had been feeble attempts and it was only three days, tops, before he was back with a camel smoke in between his lips. He could tell that it clearly bugged his partner, based off that intense look of longing in his eyes for the cigarette.

They were standing there in silence for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. Mickey was just smoking his cigarette and Ian was watching him, trying to figure out what to do. This whole thing was pretty freaking boring, Ian had to admit. With his foot lightly tapping against the ground, he pulled his coat closer to him.

“So what are we doing? I mean, we can’t just be standing here all day.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. Why did he have to get stuck with the new kid again? This was rather annoying. They had been standing outside, right next to a black car, for the better part of fifteen minutes. The only reason they were outside was because Mickey had a thing about smoking in in cars, and well, it looked a lot more suspicious when you sat in your car for about twenty minutes, completely unmoving. Not that leaning up the car was any better, but that didn’t matter.

“Did anyone tell you what I’m doing?”

“No.”

Of fucking course not. Mickey sighed as he took a final drag of his cigarette, stamping it out with his boot.  He was pissed off for his captain for not filling in the redhead as to what was going on. But then again, the more Mickey thought about it, it really seemed like this whole “let’s have a partner for Mickey Milkovich” situation was rather desperate. Hell, it probably was some type of trade off – give him a partner otherwise lose one of your best detectives.

Not that he was proud of that or anything.

“There’s been some calls or some shit about someone selling drugs in this area. They’re a low level offender, but they think he’s connected to one of the bigger guys, I can’t remember his fuckin’ name right now.” There were too many names for Mickey to memorize so he had stopped doing that a long time ago, leaving it to his partner to check his facts.

Ian pursed his lips together, thinking about it. It made sense, given that they were narcotics, and it was easier to watch someone as opposed to going off a whim. That way there was the solid evidence. Did he really want to stand around and do nothing? No. He was used to being on his feet, moving around, even if it was just in his patrol car. The patrol car was at least moving and he could keep himself going by looking at different buildings.

“Don’t you think we look suspicious just standing near the car though?”

Mickey shrugged, long past the point of caring.

“Not really. We’re far enough back that it doesn’t fuckin’ matter; they can’t tell who we are. Not like we’re going to run in, guns up in the air screaming ‘this is the police’ are we? That’d be a dumb fucking move.”

Ian knew that Mickey had a point, not that he was fully willing to admit to that yet. Really, Ian was just confused about the whole thing. Sure, he had the drive to be a detective, but that had been something on a whim and he didn’t really think that he would get it, considering how he was barely twenty-seven and still a fresh face on the scene.

“Is this what it’s always like, then? Just sitting around and hoping we catch the bad guy?”

“You can’t tell me you did anything different on your patrol because you fuckin’ didn’t. Where were you assigned too?”

Mickey watched the redhead carefully, noticing how he paused and there was a frantic look in his eyes. He could already see the answer in his head before Ian spoke. It made him angry because for Gallagher, it was _easy_.

“Canaryville.” Ian’s eyes drifted over towards his partner and then back at the area they were supposed to be watching intently. He shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly just sitting around and waiting to catch the bad guy. Don’t you remember?”

“Didn’t work there.” There was a back off tone in his voice if Ian had ever heard one, despite the fact that he was curious to know why.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it did make sense why Mickey wouldn’t work there. He could hear Mandy complaining in his head, he could hear the neighbourhood talking shit, and he could hear the general disbelief that _Mickey Milkovich was a police officer_. At least with himself, it had been easy to accept. Ian Gallagher had always had such an obsession with the military and after his dreams had been crushed, it only made sense.

Still didn’t change the fact that nobody was really happy to see him be a cop, but hey, they got away with more than they could have with someone else.

There was a buzz on the radio coming from inside the car, but before the younger boy could react, Mickey was already in the car and listening to it. Jesus, he was fast. It appeared that everything was like a second nature to him, which in a way, Ian guessed that it was – just in a reverse sort of way. It almost made him laugh.

The third Gallagher didn’t say anything as he hopped into the car, watching his partner in some sort of awe. This whole thing was rather fascinating.

And it was strangely easy how quickly the two of them fell into a rhythm. It wasn’t long before Ian got a decent hang of the job, something Mickey was thankful given that he was “sick of having to tell him the most basic shit he should already fucking know” (actual quote).  It wasn’t exactly easy, but it wasn’t exactly hard, either. It was strangely nice.

It took about three months before shit started to hit the fan and the two of them were kicking themselves in the gut for it, because _really_ , they should have known.

Nothing good ever happens in this shitty world.

 


	3. Say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Think we could just back out of it now and call it good?”
> 
> The brunette looked up at him. He was trying to be as calm as possible, but this was getting harder as time went on. He wanted to go to a bar, get drunk, and smoke his way through a pack of cigarettes before tomorrow morning. Things would be a lot easier to forget if that was the case.
> 
> “It’s just a job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse other than school has been kicking my ass and thus, drying up my muse. Also, I really fuckin' hate fillers so naturally, I put them off. It's a lot jumbled up into one and yeah, a little fucked, but you know. It's fanfic. Yolo? Yolo.
> 
> How about 4x11 and that finale though. Let's not.

Rubbing his hands over his face, the redhead sighed. Today was just another day at the office, another day where he’d be bored out of his mind. It had been surprisingly easy for him to pick up on his partner’s habits, how to effectively work the job, and the likes. That didn’t make anything easier, because being a detective anywhere wasn’t easy, but it was more so ‘adaptable.’ Ian enjoyed it and in the end, wasn’t that what mattered?

There were days when it was hard, those days when he’d have the inner battle to take his medication at exactly eight o’clock in the morning. But he was able to push through it, most of the time, simply because the idea of seeing the stupid Milkovich detective made his stomach do backflips. Needless to say, Ian Gallagher was doomed the moment he walked into the police station and saw Mickey sitting there.

He was reading over some case file, something about some teenager supposedly selling weed or whatever, when Mickey came slumping in and sat down in the seat across from him. Ian didn’t have to look up at him to know that he was pissed off about something, which was nothing new.

“Look who finally arrived,” Ian teased as he shut the case file, looking up at his partner. He was completely unphased by Mickey’s “if looks could kill” death glare. “About time. Boss wants to talk to us.” That made Ian a bit nervous, considering how one on one conversations hadn’t exactly ended well when it came to his superiors, but he shoved that thought to the side.

 Mickey grunted and swung his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the office, Ian following close on his tail. He could already tell that this was going to be one of those days, where Mickey would barely say anything and when he did, it’d be in a fit of rage. He wouldn’t even admit on his deathbed as to how attractive Ian thought it was.

The two slid into the seats opposite the captain and the talk began. There wasn’t really much too it, just him updating his two detectives about new information regarding a string of drug deals in one specific part of Chicago. It was just the same thing, a different day, only this time, there had been an approval for an undercover request.

Everything was fine until the captain looked them dead in the eyes and told them “Canaryville.”

* * *

 

“This is a fucking death wish.”

Mickey bit the inside of the lip, his thumb at the corner of his mouth. Ian knew that this was his tell-tale sign for that he was stressed, that something was wrong, and that things weren’t going to be okay. Ian agreed with him. He was already running over the scenarios in his head, how this was supposed to work, especially since people knew that he was a police officer.

Then again, the story that the captain had come up with wasn’t exactly far from the truth. It was also the first time his partner had heard about the diagnosis, the instability, and everything else that made him feel so fucking venerable and open that he didn’t know what to do.

At least Mickey hadn’t said anything.

“Think we could just back out of it now and call it good?”

The brunette looked up at him. He was trying to be as calm as possible, but this was getting harder as time went on. He wanted to go to a bar, get drunk, and smoke his way through a pack of cigarettes before tomorrow morning. Things would be a lot easier to forget if that was the case.

“It’s just a job.”

Maybe if he said that enough in his head, it’d be true. He lit up the cigarette and inhaled the smoke, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he did so. He didn’t have time to think before he felt the cigarette leaving his lips, a pissed off look etched all over his face.

“Thought you said you quit.”

Ian simply shrugged as he took a drag of the cigarette, trying not to focus on the fact that it had been on Mickey’s mouth and some part of it tasted so fucking good.

“Yeah, well, stress smoking is a weakness.”

The older detective tried his hardest to hide the smirk on his face.

* * *

 

The whole process of “moving” took about a week. It was some shitty apartment that was supposed to be their home base, where they could connect with people at the station and not have to worry about someone else putting two and two together.

Ian spent the better part of the time trying to make the story plausible to his family. It started out with a simple phone call, where he was talking about how he had been off his meds for a couple of days due to high periods of stress (that wasn’t uncommon) and how he was freaking out because he got involved in a situation and charges might be filed. He was vague on the details but it was enough to plant the seed. That call was followed up, a couple days later, by a very simple explanation of that he had been let go from his job and was moving back. There was nothing more to it.

And as for Mickey? Well, he was just going to walk back into the neighbourhood like not a fucking thing had changed. Terry was going to be pissed and Mandy was going to probably hit him with a frying pan for leaving him, but that didn’t matter to him anymore. The only thing that mattered at this point was staying alive, which was going to be harder said than done.

* * *

Sirens. There were a lot of sirens in this place. The brunette had forgotten how many times they went off. Groaning loudly, he knew that there was no point in sleeping. He had gotten so used to the loudness of the North side, which just consisted of people yelling during the night and the occasional siren. This was a lot different and he didn’t like it.

It didn’t help that he didn’t do well in sleeping in places he wasn’t familiar with. He was used to sleeping in his own bed, in his apartment, away from anyone. It bugged him that Gallagher was in the next room over, that he could fucking hear him shuffling around in the living room. At least he couldn’t sleep either.

“Jesus, will you keep it down?” Mickey grumbled, his voice rough from the lack of sleep. He leaned up against the wall, watching Ian carefully.

“Sorry,” Ian replied as he readjusted his position on the couch. It was a nervous habit he had picked up; he got fidgety when he was stressed out. It happened a lot, especially now that he was back in fucking Canaryville. This was the last thing he had ever wanted and he hated having to lie to his family, but what was done was done. There wasn’t too much he could do about it.

It was too silent for Ian. His leg was bouncing on the ground and his vision was going blurry. He just wished he could put the blame on the medication but it wasn’t that; it was just the nerves.

“Got a smoke I could borrow?”

“Buy your own fuckin’ pack,” Mickey grumbled as he threw his pack at Ian, already having a light cigarette between his lips. It was such a problem and he had no desire to stop. And yeah, he rather enjoyed seeing Gallagher inhaling the cigarette and started to stare at his mouth, just fucking wondering how those lips would feel against his co-  
  
 _No._

He wasn’t going to think about that.

“We’re gonna be okay, Mick.”

They both knew that Ian didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. It was better to pretend that they did.

**Author's Note:**

> All police information is based off my borderline obsessive knowledge with the Alaska's police department. I've done research into Chicago but eh, what can I say.


End file.
